


Blair in a Bottle

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, And Now For Something Completely Different, Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair meet under very different circumstances - but gosh, somehow end up right where they belong</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blair in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Original Posting: Appeared in the print zine Sense of Wonder 3

 

 

 

 

 

**Blair in a Bottle by Alyjude  
**

Blair sat cross-legged on the colorful, plump cushion. He had a stack of playing cards in one hand and, on the floor in front of him, several more playing cards were laid out, all face up. He put his chin in his other hand and contemplated the cards. He sighed heavily. He was losing. Again.

He always lost at solitaire.

He counted out three cards from the stack in his hand, flipped them over, and sighed again. He did *not* need a red eight, he needed a black eight. A thumping sound took his mind off his game and he glanced up.

A door slammed shut.

He sighed again and cursed his good old buddy, Morgan Telarico. Should he ever get his hands on the man, the man would be fish food and if anyone could make someone fish food, it was he, Blair Jacob Sandburg.

He listened to the usual sounds that signaled the return home of the owner of Blair's comfortable, if somewhat cramped residence, and he felt an unusual yearning. He'd love to see the owner, to hear his voice up close and personal, rather than muted and through the walls of his home. Of course, he'd love to actually _see_ the guy as well because that would mean freedom, if only limited. And yet....today, at this moment, he felt a _need_ to see and hear the man; a strong feeling that he was _supposed_ to see him, talk with him, and help him.

But unless the daft idiot rubbed the damn bottle, which he'd never do in a million years, no one was likely to see Blair Sandburg ever again.

Damn, that Morgan Telarico. He was **SO** going to see a brutal end – some day.

Damn this stupid pink, green and purple bottle, this place he now called home.

***

Jim stalked into his home, slammed the door and, breathing heavily, remained motionless just inside.

It had happened again.

This time he'd lost several hours, missing without a trace, and Jim didn't have a clue as to what the hell was happening to him.

His fingers gripped his keys and suddenly his anger exploded as he threw the keys with all his might.

***

Blair suddenly lashed out at the cards and, with one sweep of his hand, sent them flying. At the same instant, something hit the side of his home, rocking it back and forth. Blair fell sideways and was immediately pummeled by a gang of fancy Arabian pillows. He was rocked back to his right, and finally, he was tumbling over and over and over....

***

"Shit!"

His keys smacked into the stupid "Genie" bottle that his ex-wife, Carolyn Plummer, had given him. The damn thing teetered on the edge of the stereo and Jim made a half-hearted attempt to catch it, but watched in almost gleeful fascination as it finally tumbled over and over and over....

***

"Shit!" Blair yelled as the bottle hit what he supposed was the ground. He bounced up, over and finally crashed into the small table. He tucked himself into a ball and covered his head with his arms in order to ride out the roll - only the bottle didn't roll - it started to spin.

He was going to be seasick.

***

Jim watched the bottle hit and not - God dammit - break. Instead, it started spinning slowly on his hardwood floor.

Why the hell hadn't it broken? And what the fuck was it made of, anyway?

With a disgust born of a lousy day, Jim strode over and picked the damn thing up. Okay, it was definitely glass, so why wasn't he sweeping shards of the thing into a dustpan? Holding it up to his face, he felt compelled to shake it.

So he did.

***

" **Fuck**!"

Blair bounced from wall to wall as his owner (at least he assumed it was his owner) shook his pathetic excuse for a harem-home.

"Cut it out, you asshole!"

But of course, the asshole couldn't hear him. After all, if people could hear other people when they were trapped in bottles, well, who'd be trapped in bottles anymore?

Man, this was worse than the spin cycle of a washing machine – he supposed. Thank God for the obscenely colored silk sheets that served as drapes and the wall-to-wall pillows that adorned his little habitat.

As quickly as it had started, the shaking stopped, and Blair, who was tightly wedged into the top of the bottle, felt the turn and, with a sickening feeling, realized the bottle was being turned right side up. Which meant that he had nowhere to go but...down.

"Ouch!" he yelled as his sore body connected with the table.

Oh, sure, now he misses all the stupid pillows.

He hit hard, rolled off, and landed butt first on the ground.

"Ow, ow, ow…."

***

Jim stared at the bottle with a disgusted expression on his face. He really could have used something breaking into a million pieces right now. On the other hand, one never knew when one's ex-wife would pop over - and ex who'd naturally want to make sure her 'gift' was prominently displayed and appreciated.

Sighing the sigh of the put-upon, Jim pulled his shirt out of his jeans and started to rub the dulled glass….

***

"Oh, now what?" Blair asked as he felt something weird happening to the air around him.

Actually, not just the air - suddenly he was feeling pretty weird too. And was that... Holy shit, his home was filling with…with…with… Pink smoke.

Fucking pink smoke and then he was… he was… and going up and up and up and, please God, someone take the fucking stopper out of the fucking bottle - **now**!

***

"Oh, now what?" Jim muttered as the bottle jumped in his hand.

He stopped rubbing...and then the bottle jumped in his hand, like some kind of jumping bean. Startled, he watched as it shook, rattled and rolled and....

What the fuck?

Suddenly it jumped out of his hand - and it was sure to break now.

Except...it didn't.

Instead, it landed once again on the floor, the stopper popped out and, before he could say "I dream of Jeannie" - his home filled with....

Jim closed his eyes.

This was SO unfair. He didn't deserve this, he really didn't. He was a good man who simply hadn't been good husband material. Should he be punished for that? Hell, Simon would tell anyone what a great cop he was...albeit a loner, but still, a good cop. Did he really deserve _pink_ smoke in his living room, pink smoke emanating from a bottle?

No.

Categorically no.

Now would be a good time to lose some more time. But no-o-o, not in this lifetime.

When weird shit happened, where was a good fugue when you needed one.

***

Oh, man, how the hell was he gonna fit through that? But hey, at least the stopper was gone and....

"Oh, hell, here I come!"

Blair was whooshed up and became no more than vapor as he and the colored smoke filtered through the opening. Once out, he was carried over the top before he began the slow descent down...and down....

His argyle-socked feet hit hardwood floor and he was real, and he was tall (well, taller than he was when in the bottle, and okay, that was only 5'7, but still, it was a vast improvement over being stuck in a twelve inch-plus glass bottle) and he was...real and flesh and...and...this was _SO_ cool.

He patted himself down, took a quick inventory and, sure enough, all the important working parts were present and accounted for, thank you very much, and hallelujah.

Did this mean he was free?

***

There were a great many things Jim could say when faced with a pink cloud in his home; a pink cloud that, when it faded, left a man standing in its wake. Yep, Jim could have said a whole lot of things, like; "Who the hell are you?" or "Where the hell did you come from?" or even, "Could you go back to wherever the hell you came from?" but he said none of those mundane and ordinary things - no, sir, not him.

"Is that vest for real?"

That's what Detective James Joseph Ellison said to the man from the pink cloud.

"What, you don't like it? It's so me, man," the man from the pink cloud, and coincidentally, the bottle, responded.

"It's a 60's reject, kid, and who the hell are you, anyway?"

Well, he had to get to the mundane eventually, right?

"I _am_ a 60's reject, buddy, so like I said, this vest is me."

Jim rubbed his eyes and looked again. He probably should have done that to begin with but he'd been too startled by the guy. And now that he had rubbed his eyes, well, it hadn't done any good, because the guy in the weird blue hippy vest, long curly hair, torn jeans, white billowy shirt, earrings (earrings? The guy really was from the 60's), bracelets and the most God-awful pair of tennis shoes he'd ever seen, was still standing in his living room.

And were those lips and eyes for real - or the hips being hugged by the hippy vest?

Shaking a few stray and lustful thoughts away, Jim bent over and picked up the bottle. He shook it again before peering into the opening. As his vision cleared, he jerked back, blinked rapidly, then slowly brought the bottle back.

"My God," he whispered. "Would you look at that? It's got all these tiny little pillows and a table and... Are those toy playing cards?"

Stunned, Blair stepped closer to the man who owned him. "You can see all that?"

"Sure. I don't believe it, but I can see it... Hey, are those drapes? Silk drapes?"

"Well, yeah. Silk pillows too."

"Wow, how'd they get these little doodads in there? Is it like one of those 'ship in a bottle' things?"

"No, man, it's magic," Blair answered simply.

Eye still at the opening, Jim gave him a lopsided grin. "Right, sure, magic."

"How else would you explain the fact that I just came _out_ of it?"

The small vein in his temple started throbbing as he lowered the bottle. Focusing icy, disbelieving - and all right, somewhat confused - blue eyes on Blair, Jim said, "Excuse me?

"Of course," Blair went on as if Jim hadn't said anything, "how the hell I got _in_ the damn thing is more important at the moment. And thank you very much, by the way, for releasing me, which, incidentally, brings us to what I am, if you know what I mean?"

The bottle dropped out of Jim's hand, bounced, then rolled to a stop as it bumped into the stereo cabinet. Blinking rapidly, Jim murmured, "I'm crazy. That's the only explanation." He moved closer to Blair and, frowning, added, "You can say it. Go ahead, say it. Tell me I'm crazy. No, better yet, tell me what I am - besides Detective Jim Ellison. In fact, I wish you would. It's obvious that you're like, an hallucination, a figment of my pitifully strained brain, right? I mean, I knew there was something wrong with me, what with all the episodes of blanking out and coming to only to find minutes and hours gone...or how 'bout being able to hear some guy fart across the street or not being able to wear my flannel shirts anymore because they burn my skin, or nearly dying after taking a bite of chicken curry, and let's not forget watching a woman sunbathe on her boat in the bay, which is no biggie unless I happened to be standing on my balcony... _seven_ miles away. Oh, yeah, I know I'm losing it, but...but you? Seeing you means that it's time for committing myself. Time for daily doses of Thorazine."

***

Blair had been about to reassure the man - no, Jim Ellison - that he wasn't insane, just incredibly lucky, but then the guy started in on his litany of 'mental' complaints and Blair shut up and listened; listened hard and earnestly. When Ellison finally wound down, Blair found himself at a loss for words because, after all his years of searching for the impossible, followed by all the months locked up in a bottle, and now, when he could do nothing about it, he'd found his holy grail.

Well, holy shit.

But of course, Blair Sandburg was rarely at a loss for words...not for long, anyway.

"My God, you're a fucking sentinel. You're the real McCoy, man. The real deal, the real thing, and I'm standing here... By the way, where _am_ I standing? Where is this place?"

Jim blinked. "Wha'?"

"Where am I? What city - state - country?"

Jim found himself answering automatically, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Cascade, Washington."

"Washington? As in 'the state of'? Wow, cool. I'm home. This is amazing! I go to school here, man, at Rainier. I'm a...was...an anthropologist going for my doctorate and working as a teaching fellow." Blair took a step closer. "Hey, you don't know a guy named Morgan Telarico, do you? No, probably not. I only ask because I couldn't help but notice the gun and badge and combined with telling me you're Detective Jim Ellison, I correctly deduced that you must be a cop. I'm quick that way. Not that it matters because you're probably one of the good ones, if this place is any indication. Not that you don't have good taste, mind you, but come on, we're talking minimalism taken to the extreme. Not that your stereo isn't nice, 'cause it is. Top of the line, but hey, most guys invest in good stereos, it's one of those macho rules we all seem to follow. Not that I ever did, 'cause I didn't. Oh, I have a CD player, all right, but nothing fancy. Found it at the Salvation Army store on Wilmington. I have... Gee, I wonder if I still have it? My place, I mean. I have...or had...a big, cold, drafty apartment in an abandoned warehouse on Ninth, in the Colby district. What can I say? Eight hundred a month, which is why no fancy stereo... Well, that and a car that ate me out of house and home... Oh, man, I wonder if my Corvair is still—"

Jim finally gathered enough wits to stop the verbal assault. "Whoa, Chief. Suck it up, take a breath, and give me a break. Could we start over, like maybe from the point where you knocked on my door, I opened it, and you said, 'Hello, my name is Joe Blow and I'm here to make sure that you never lack for knowledge again. I can put a set of Encyclopedias in your hand for less than a dollar a day. What do you say to that?'"

Blair made a small 'tsking' sound and shook his head. "My name is Blair Sandburg and a dollar a day would be seven bucks a week, or about thirty bucks a month, and for how many years? You could buy a house in less time that it would take to pay off a set of encyclopedias. And come on, this is the age of computers. There's nothing that can't be found on-line nowadays. And sure, computers are expensive, but you can do so much more with them than a set of encyclopedias, you know? You can do your taxes, banking, chat with friends all over the world, do your—"

"Good God, do you ever stop?"

"...reports... Huh?"

"Do-you-ever-stop?"

Blair digested Jim's words and then shrugged helplessly. With an ingratiating smile, he said, "Hey, what can I say? I haven't had anyone to talk to in eight months, you know?" He held up one hand. "Okay, I admit it, I always talk like this. Drives my friends batty, but the ladies love it," he added with a waggle of overly active eyebrows.

It was funny how things happened, because one minute Jim was listening to the young man across from him, listening and even enjoying, and the next, one word popped into his head: Sentinel.

The kid had called him a _sentinel_.

The word reverberated throughout his brain and entire body.

"You called me...a sentinel."

"That's what you are, man. Don't worry, you're most definitely not insane, you just have incredibly heightened senses, but not just one or two. Oh, no, you appear to have all five, and that's what makes you a sentinel. I've been looking for you all my life," Blair added reverently.

"Gee, that's usually my line, Chief. So I'm not insane?"

Blair shook his head and mouthed a simple, 'No'.

"I'm a sentinel?"

Blair nodded. "Look, I should explain. See, Sir Richard Burton—"

"I know all about Burton, Chief."

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. "Oh, really? So you know about his 'Sentinels of Paraguay'?"

"Oh. Uhm, well, no, not exactly—"

"Didn't think so. He studied them and it was his belief that every tribe had a... Oh, never mind. The important thing is that you're a sentinel, a guardian, and it's a gift, man. You're one lucky stiff because I can show you how to survive, if you'll let me. But first, you need to hold off on your three wishes in order for this to work, see?"

Looking skeptical, Jim said, "Did I just hear you right?"

"Of course you did, you ass. You're a sentinel, remember?"

Slightly put out, Jim said, "Well, jeez, you don't have to be snippy about it. Just explain what the fuck you mean by three wishes, okay?"

"Don't you know anything? Didn't your parents ever read any fairy tales when you were little? Come on, man, I'm a...I'm a... Damn, I can't say it. I've been practicing for eight months and now, when push comes to shove, I can't say it. It's just too...ridiculous, you know? I mean, look at me? Do I look like a genie to you? No, of course not... Oh, wait, I just said it. Wow. I said it. I'm a genie; a genie in a bottle. And you, my man, have just won three wishes."

"I'm supposed to believe this? You just pop in here and I'm supposed to believe you're a genie in a bottle?"

"You just answered your own question. I just 'popped' in here, and may I remind you that I popped in here from out of," he walked over to the stereo, bent down, and picked up the bottle, "this?" He pointed at it. "What, you think I'd be in there if I weren't a genie? You think people put other people in bottles for fun? 'Oh, I think I'll put Blair in a bottle today', and by the way, that's my name in case I failed to mention it before. Blair Sandburg."

With a triumphant expression on his face, Jim said, "So if I wished you the hell out of here, you'd be gone in an instant?"

All the air seemed to whoosh out of Blair and his expression, which up to that point had been lively and mobile, now fell flat. "You really want me gone? I mean, I can help you, and even if you don't want help with your senses, you still have three wishes. You can call the university for references, if you need them. I'm a good guy, really. Okay, I talk too much, and I've been accused of being rather energetic, but really, I'm nice and safe. No axes, let alone an axe to grind, you know?"

"No offense, kid, but I'm a lone wolf kind of guy and genies just aren't in the cards for me."

"Actually, you're probably a lone jaguar or panther or tiger. Sentinels tend to have feline spirit animals. Me, I'm a wolf, but definitely not a loner. Wolves like their packs, you know? We're very clan oriented. But felines are like sentinels. They need airy locales and solitude, except for their buddy. See, every sentinel needs someone to watch over them, you know? Because they zone...."

Blair realized that Jim wasn't responding, wasn't even blinking. He took a tentative step forward and, when Jim didn't try to stop him, got closer, and closer still. "Uhm, Jim?"

He waved a hand in front the man's face, then snapped his fingers. When he got no response, he closed his eyes and said, "Huh-oh. Speaking of zones...."

***

Blair debated what to do. If he acted incorrectly and brought the man out too soon and too harshly, he could end up with a bullet in his brain, and really, he was pretty sure that being a genie didn't buy him a 'get out of death card'.

Okay, so...maybe sound? Something comforting? He thought back to a kitten he'd found in the rain several years ago and how he'd been able to soothe the poor, sick thing by holding it next to his heart. He supposed it had been like being snuggled up next to its mother. Yeah, but would it work here?

ALl he could was try...and hope.

Blair took Jim's hand and held it against his chest. "I hope this works, Detective Jim Ellison," he said softly.

Damn, so far, nothing. All right, it had only been a few seconds, and he suspected that if being a sentinel's buddy was all that easy, there'd be tons of the sensory guys running around, so maybe if he talked some more? Of course, the risk there was that he'd talk the man deeper into a zone. He was pretty sure that he often zoned his students out when he really got on a roll.

Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Uhm, maybe I should tell you how I got into this mess in the first place? Sure, who wouldn't want to know? You're probably dying of curiosity. Not. Okay, this is what happened." He took a deep breath, and keeping his voice deliberately low and soothing, said, "My good buddy, Morgan Telarico, is responsible for my current predicament, thank you very much, and all because I told him no. I mean, come on, he was my friend. It's not that he wasn't my type, but, well, he wasn't. I like my guys more like you...oh, wait, that probably wasn't the right thing to say under the circumstances. I'll just get to the meat of it...uhm, that probably wasn't the best choice of words either. I mean, to misquote Spencer Tracy in Pat and Mike, you're cherce, man. Okay, that wasn't a good thing to say either, but give me a break, I'm twenty-six and, let's face it, I've been in that bottle for months and I'm horny as hell, you know? I've never been good at solitaire, but have always played well with others.

"Oh, man, I just went off on a tangent, didn't I? Okay, so I was saying no, and Morgan made like that was AOK with him, and we went into town. Now in this case, 'town' was really a village called Idku, which is a city in Egypt. Anyway, we were somehow separated and there was this wizened old crone...God, I sound like a fairytale here. Anyway, she was this guy's mother, and this guy was stuck in the bottle, see? So she wanted some sucker to take his place. Morgan thought it was the perfect payback so he told her he had the perfect patsy, namely me. See, there are two ways a genie can be released forever from the servitude of the bottle. One," he held up the index finger of his left hand, "the person who rubs the bottle has to use one of their three wishes to free the genie and, two, and this one really sucks because it makes no sense at all, but the person rubbing the bottle has to wish for something that couldn't possibly be granted. Now you would think that a genie could grant any wish, but no, he or she can't.

"Like, for instance, if you asked the genie for world peace or for all wars to end or world hunger to go bye-bye - no can do. It seems a genie can't muck with free will or destiny or the natural order of things. Who knew? A genie can grant wishes that improve the life of the wisher as long as the wish doesn't hurt anyone else, or break any natural laws or the...."

Blair let the words trail off as he cocked his head. Had the guy just blinked? He waited a moment and, when nothing else happened, shrugged his shoulders and continued with his memorized rules.

"Or the general laws of the land. Like, if a genie were asked to rob a bank - nope, can't do it. But make a guy a millionaire, no problemo. So if some schmuck who doesn't know any better asks for the wrong thing, zap, the schmuckola becomes the new genie. So my good buddy Morgan gets me to the old lady's little shop, manages to maneuver me over to where the bottle is, gets me to pick it up, points out a bit of dirt and, what do I do? You guessed it, I rubbed it.

"Well, you know what happened then. I get the smoke, the guy, and he bows... yeah, I forgot to do that. The Genie Union will probably fine me now. Anyway, he bows and says, 'My wish is your command, O Wonderful Master. You may have three wishes.' Well, Morgan pokes me in the side and says, 'Here's your chance, Blair. Think of all the good you can do.' Yeah, he suckered me right in and I fell for it. So what did I wish for, you may ask? Well, another good friend was battling cancer, so I told the guy I wanted him to give us a cure. Now, see, if I'd asked him to cure just my friend, I'd have been all right, but I didn't. I asked him to muck around with the natural way of the world. Next thing I knew, crone was hugging the ex-genie and I was evaporating into pink smoke and the bottle, and my good buddy, my compadre, my friend, just up and left me there."

Blair was so wrapped up in the retelling of his woeful story that he missed the large hand covering his.

"I'm sorry, Blair."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm out... Wha' the hell? Hey, you're okay!"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jim asked, surprised. Then he gave a small shake of his head and said, "Hell, it happened again, didn't it? I went to some la-la land, right?"

"Well, the technical term is 'zone', but yeah, it happened again."

"How long?"

"Only a few minutes. I kind of placed your hand," Blair looked down and spotted Jim's other hand over his, "over my heart and now...you appear to have your other hand over my hand, over your hand, over my heart...."

"So it would seem, Chief. And only minutes? I was only gone for a few minutes? That's...that's a good thing...well, except for the sentinel part. I could do without that."

"But now you have me, man. I'm just the guy to help you."

"I'm assuming you mean that in the 'I'm a sentinel and you're a genie' kind of way, right?"

With some quick and dismissive hand waving, Blair said nonchalantly, "Oh, well, sure, man. Sure."

"I'm curious about something. What happens once I've made my three wishes?"

"Well, I'm in servitude to the bottle and, as long as you own it, you own me. I'll retain certain aspects of geniedom, but won't be able to grant wishes. When you don't need me, I return to my...to the bottle."

"Wait. Define...own."

"As long as you are in possession of the bottle, I must do as you ask. You are my...my... Man, this is hard to say, you know? I'm an enlightened guy of the nineties, a liberal Democrat so liberal that I automatically walk on the left side of everything, and I have to tell you that you're my...my...mas... mas—"

"Are you trying to say - master?"

"Yeah, that," Blair said, obviously relieved now that the word was out there.

"So," a speculative gleam appeared in the blue eyes, "if I were to ask you to bark like a dog, or cluck like a chicken-"

"Well, not yet. Not until you've used up your three wishes. My only obligation right now is to grant those."

"So _after_ the wish thing, if I ask you to—"

"Damn it, yes. You want me to parade around in a tutu, for God's sake, then I parade around in a tutu. But please, make it blue. I look pretty good in blue."

"You know, this just might work. Okay, here's the deal. I'll put off the wish thing, or at least the last wish, until I have this sentinel stuff under control. You help me, teach me, do whatever it takes, and with my last wish, I'll free you. How's that?"

Stunned, Blair said, "You'd...you would really...you'd actually free me?"

"Yeah, Chief, I would. Do we have a deal?"

In answer, Blair held out his hand. They shook, and Jim immediately said, "So where do we start?"

"We need to run some tests, set a baseline for each sense, that kind of thing."

Jim nodded excitedly.

It was an excitement that, in the ensuing weeks, would wane.

A lot.

***

"Jiiiim, you've got to let me do this. Don't you get it yet? We have to know your capabilities, gauge them, measure them continually. How else can I know how far you've come?"

"But a taste test? Blindfolded?"

Blair counted to ten – backwards - before smiling cheerily. "Yes, Jim, a taste test and blindfolded. But not just any taste test. You'll have to identify every single ingredient in each test glass. Now, are you going to let me do this?"

For the last three weeks, Jim had gone through his detective days with a genie on his shoulder, or at least as his shadow. Convincing his boss and good friend, Simon Banks, to allow Sandburg to tag along as he went about the daily business of tracking down criminals and bringing them to justice, had been easier than Jim had anticipated. A little white lie, along the lines of, "He's writing his dissertation on cops and the stress they face, and the kid is pretty bright and besides, he's a relative of a...relative, and would you just let him ride with me?"

Of course, it was still up in the air as to exactly what part had been the white lie, but Jim had been betting on all of it. Well, okay, not the 'the kid is pretty bright' part. Blair Sandburg was both bright and pretty...in a really masculine way, of course. Which explained why Jim's libido had been on a roller coaster ride for the last three weeks and his knuckles were getting mighty sore. Oddly enough, he'd have acted on his lustful feelings, if he'd been able to get over the fact that Sandburg was a genie who lived in a bottle Jim kept in the storage space under the stairs.

Of course, why Jim had moved the bottle had been answered pretty simply a few weeks ago.

_"It's just not right, Sandburg. If you didn't have to go into that thing every night, then I'd fix up the storage room and thus turn it into a spare bedroom. Now since everyone thinks you're rooming with me, it would look pretty silly if they came over and my storage room was still a storage room, wouldn't it?"_

_"Why wouldn't they assume I was 'rooming' upstairs with you?"_

Jim hadn't missed the innocent look Sandburg had tried to assume as he'd asked the question. No, Jim wasn't a detective for nothing. He knew darn well that the loft was full of unresolved sexual tension. He wanted Sandburg and Sandburg wanted him. But Sandburg lived in a bottle and traveled in and out on a pink cloud, which, by the way, really set off his blue eyes, and he had long hair, earrings, wore an ankh on a leather thong around his neck, and wore three leather native bracelets on his left wrist. He dressed like the sixties reject he was, had brain power capable of lighting up the entire US of A, a five o'clock shadow by nine in the morning, and a chest full of dark curly hair. And damn it, also had an incredibly fine ass.

And lips.

Incredibly fine lips.

And when he was around, Jim's senses and life were pretty incredible too.

All of which explained why he gave Sandburg grief whenever the younger man wanted to test his senses. Testing usually meant that they were working closer than usual together, as in body close, and Jim only had so much willpower, so he whined and dug his heels into the sand and complained.

But it never worked.

Jim always ended up doing exactly what Blair Sandburg wanted him to do, which left Jim wondering just exactly who the master was in this relationship.

"So, will you let me do this, Jim?"

A black blindfold was being dangled in front of his face and, just as he always did, Jim gave in. "Oh, all right. Do your worse, Doctor Frankenstein."

"Don't tempt me, Jim," Blair said as he got up behind Jim, reached up, which coincidentally, put him groin to ass with Jim, and tied the black cloth around Jim's eyes.

"Okay, you have six cups in front of you. I'm going to take your hand and place it on the first one. You smell it, tell me what you get, then taste it, and go from there."

Jim felt the coolness of Blair's hand as the younger man lifted his and placed Jim's fingers around the cup. He thought it was odd that a cool touch could send such heat through his body. He mentally picked up a chair and held it protectively in front of him, then warned his dick back into place. Next time, he'd use a whip.

"Okay, smell it, Jim."

He held the cup up to his nose and sniffed. "Cinnamon, pepper, mint...and cloves?"

"Good, now taste it and tell me if you taste something you can't smell."

Jim screwed up his face in disgust, but he sipped. "Uhm...sugar and salt."

"Excellent, man, excellent. Next."

And so it went on. After the last cup, Jim swept the blindfold off, kept his eyes closed for a moment, then opened them to a smiling Blair.

"Oh, man, you nailed it, every single one of them. You're awesome, man, just awesome."

Preening, Jim shrugged his shoulders and tried for an attitude of "Who me?" but failed miserably.

Hiding his grin, Blair started emptying the glasses. As he worked, he said, "You know, you haven't taken full advantage of my services yet. Don't you think it's time you—"

"Not now, Sandburg. No wish talk. Besides, we're supposed to meet Sneaks at five, so get the lead out."

"Jim, all I'm saying is—"

"Now, Sandburg."

With an impatient sigh, Blair walked into the room that housed his home and put on his tennis shoes, his oldest, rattiest pair, having already lost one good pair to 'Sneaks', who was called that not because he was sneaky, by the way, but because of his penchant for designer tennis shoes. It would have been nice if he'd had a genie. His first wish would be for a new pair. His second wish would have been...Jim.

***

"Damn, I want this guy," Jim said.

They were standing in an open garage and, on the floor a few feet away, a young man was lying in a pool of his own blood. Blair placed a hand on Jim's arm and whispered, "Concentrate, man. You need to filter out the scent of blood and see what you can pick up. You can do this, man."

Jim closed his eyes, held his breath for a moment, and allowed Blair's touch and voice to ground him. Slowly the smell of copper faded and, in its place....

"Perfume, Chief. I smell a botanical kind of perfume."

"I assume it's not our victim's cologne?"

Jim shook his head. "No, he uses Muse - this other scent is definitely more feminine. And it's as still strong enough to tell me she was here, with him, just before he was killed."

"You're saying a woman murdered him and the others?"

"I'm saying a woman was with this guy at the same time he was killed." He looked over the crime scene and added, "There's no sign of any kind of struggle, so I doubt she was taken, and the blood is all his... So yes, I'm saying that at the very least, she was an accomplice."

Blair scratched the back of his head. The last weeks had been as educational for him as they'd been for Jim, and the one thing he still couldn't get used to, was just how incredible Jim was when his detective skills ran alongside his heightened senses. Blair didn't know which he loved more; watching Jim, or watching Jim work. Today, unfortunately, Jim was tired and frustrated, thanks to a long and rough week for him and Major Crime.

There'd been three murders in a little over a week; one young woman and two young men, all found at home and all with their throats slit. With each new murder came Blair's indoctrination into the kind of pressure that can be placed on the police when it appears a serial killer is on the loose and Blair hadn't liked his indoctrination one bit. Especially since most of the pressure was being piled directly on top of Jim, recent Detective of the Year, and primary on the case.

In the last week, Blair had also discovered just how hard Jim took his cases, not to mention the death of another human being. He'd often preached to Blair about checking his 'humanity' at the door, but Jim's humanity traveled with him and walked through every single victim's door. As a result, Blair also learned that the practice of carrying the world on your shoulders brought forth sleepless nights, a tight jaw, and terse conversation, and if that weren't enough, Jim tended to forget the fine art of eating, which Blair strove to correct, without much success.

And now, here they were with victim number four.

"Jim, did you smell the same perfume at the last scene?" he asked, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"I had a cold, remember? And remind me to stay away from you when I'm sick. You're positively weird with all your ideas and native remedies, which by the way, was the only other thing I could smell last week. What the hell was in that pouch you slipped into my pocket?"

"Just a few dried herbs and flowers... Oh, and a dried garlic bulb." Blair missed the horrified look Jim shot in his direction. "The Mowabi tribe swear by its power to chase the evil demons that bring illness, away, and since you wouldn't use the cold medicine I made for you, I figured it couldn't hurt, you being so stubborn and all."

"Yeah, well, don't do me any more favors, okay?"

"Fine, fine, whatever. So what do we do next?"

The garage was rapidly filling with people; forensic experts, police photographers and other detectives, so Jim turned, brushed past a couple of officers and escaped into the daylight. He walked rapidly toward the street, fully aware that Sandburg was jogging to keep up. Once he hit the sidewalk, he stopped, swiped a hand over his face, and stared up at the sky. He was frustrated and angry with himself. All the shit about his senses and he hadn't been able to find anything other than a scent. Four murders and what did the great sentinel have? Bupkis, that's what.

"Jim?"

Blair's soft, worried voice came from behind him and was followed by a hand on his back. In spite of both the real and implied comfort supplied by both voice and hand, Jim's anger boiled over. He whirled around, eyes spitting cold fire. "What the hell good are my senses, Chief? Tell me that, okay? And what the hell good are you? You claim to be this all powerful genie, right? Well, let's see what you can do. I want you to show me the crime. Do it. Just show it to me. Show me the murderer."

***

Blair stepped back and away, as if distancing himself from Jim's anger. He'd been anticipating this moment, had known all along that if, and when, Jim used a wish, it wouldn't be for himself, that the request would be born of frustration and helplessness.

Shaking off the man that was Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison's friend, Blair slipped into who he was now; a genie.

"You have to say it, Jim," he said softly. "You have to actually wish-"

"Fine. I wish that you would show me the crime and let me see the murderer. There, I said it. And would you look at that? Nothing is happening. Why am I not surp—"

Blair felt the change first; a tingling sensation in his fingertips and toes. He blinked rapidly as the sensation traveled to his brain and seemed to pop out of his eyes. He felt his stomach revolt and suddenly wondered, "Do genies upchuck when granting wishes?"

***

Blair was changing. Right in front of his eyes, Blair was changing. It was subtle, but visible nevertheless. Jim took a step backward, then thought better of it and moved forward again. "Sandburg?" he asked tentatively.

Nothing – if you didn't count the fact that Blair's eyes were glowing - sort of. Almost as if they were lit up from inside, just behind the blue of his eyes.

"Look at the garage, Detective Ellison," Blair commanded in a voice that sent chills up and down Jim's spine.

Jim most certainly did not want to look away from Sandburg, but it was as if he had no choice. He looked over Blair's shoulder.

The detectives, scientists, and beat cops disappeared and so did the sun. It was suddenly night, a clear night, with a full moon. Jim found himself standing on the lawn and staring at the street. An SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, was moving slowly toward him…and he wasn't surprised when it pulled into the driveway. Jim watched as the garage door opened and the Tahoe drove forward until it was parked inside. Headlights blinked out and the garage door slid silently down. When it touched ground, Jim was suddenly transported back inside.

The car door opened on the driver's side and the victim stepped out. He pulled his jacket from the back, shut the door, and opened a side door of the garage. He never walked out though, because a woman stood in the doorway.

"Where the hell had she come from?" Jim muttered.

"I parked in the driveway, I hope that's all right?" she said in a silky, inviting voice.

"Sure, no problem. Shall we go inside, try that brandy I mentioned at the club?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's kind of nice in here," she purred as she stepped in close. Running a hand up possessively up his shirtfront, she added, "Who knew a garage could be so sexy?"

The man chuckled, but Jim's senses told him it was a nervous kind of laugh. "Yeah, well, trust me, the house is better."

Laughing lightly, she kissed him. Jim watched the man react by bringing his arm up and encircling her waist. He pulled her closer and now the only sound in the garage was their breathing.

Jim was so caught up in the kiss, in the way she was kissing the victim, that he almost missed her left hand drop to a side pocket in her dress. When she pulled it out out, he caught the flash of something shiny and immediately adjusted his eyes in time to watch, amazed, as one finger pushed a small catch that released a razor. What happened next was so fast that even if it had been real, even if Jim had actually been there at the time, he'd have never been able to prevent what happened next.

She pulled back, smiled seductively, and promptly brought her arm up and across-

The man never had a chance.

His eyes popped open as a dark stream of blood spurted out. He brought his hand up in a feeble attempt to stop the flow of life's blood, but it was too late...forever too late.

Jim closed his eyes, swayed, and was caught....

***

"Jim, you okay?"

The soft, concerned voice spread over him like honey. The smell of the murder faded, replaced by the scent that was Blair. Jim let himself lean into the younger man as he said quietly, "I saw it all, Chief, and I take back everything I've ever said about your abilities as a...you know."

"So it worked? It really worked?"

"Why do you sound so surprised? You're the genie here."

"Well, yeah, but I've never...you know, not in all the eight months, see? So I had no real idea what would happen - exactly."

"Oh, yeah? Well, it worked like a charm, if you can call watching a young man having his throat slit open, a charming thing."

"So you know who the murderer is?"

"Never saw her before in my life, but once I get an artist on this, we can take the drawing to the Nirvana Club—"

"That's the place our victim, Todd Armistead, frequented, right?"

"Right."

"Well, let's get this show on the road, man."

You gotta love the guy's spirit, Jim thought.

Hell, you just gotta love the guy.

***

"No, her hair was jaw length and a much lighter red, almost like...I don't know, maybe—"

"Strawberry blonde?" Blair offered as he peeked over his partner's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it."

Gloria Reynolds, the department's computer artist, nodded, and, with a few keystrokes, the picture on the screen changed. "How's that?"

"You've got her, Glo. That's her."

"Let me print this out and you're a go."

A few moments later, after a copy was emailed to Simon and every other detective in Major Crime, Jim had his. As he pocketed the printout, Blair asked, "What about Simon? Aren't you going—"

"He's with the commissioner," Gloria supplied with a grimace. "I don't think it's one of those, 'gee, you're doing a great job' meetings, either."

Patting his pocket, Jim said with confidence, "I think we can fix that. Let's go, Chief, before Simon's butt gets any smaller, if you know what I mean."

"I'm down with that. The smaller his butt gets, the smaller he manages to make mine."

Feeling pounds lighter, and better than he had in days, Jim laughed as he ushered Sandburg out of the lab.

***

The bartender at the Nirvana Club recognized the woman almost immediately and told Jim and Blair that she could usually be found at the club a couple of nights a week. He also mentioned that he'd overheard her mention that she enjoyed both the Zebra Club and Club Doom. Apparently she was a Steal Hat groupie.

Blair hadn't missed Jim's confusion when Dick Gregory, the bartender, mentioned Steal Hat and, once outside, he pulled Jim aside and said, "In an effort to bring you into the nineties, Steal Hat is a local heavy metal band. They currently divide their time between Nirvana, Zebra, and Doom, and were just making the rounds when I left for Egypt. I'm surprised they haven't recorded yet, by the way. They're damn good for heavy metal."

"So to boil this down into detective-speak...she follows them."

"Yeah, so it would seem."

"And according to Gregory, they'll be at Club Doom tomorrow night."

"You're catching on, Detective," Blair said with a grin.

"So guess where we'll be tomorrow night?" Jim asked as he took Blair's elbow and guided him to the Expedition.

"Uhm, bed?"

"Eventually, Chief, but first...Club Doom."

"You know, that's not exactly your scene. You don't strike me as the club type, you know? If you walk in there, the whole place will close down. Hell, you might as well have a neon sign over your head proclaiming 'COP'."

"You got a better idea, Einstein?"

"Why not let me and Brown go in? He's a cool, hip-hop kinda guy and, well, do I really need to explain me?"

Jim unlocked the car and, as they got in, said, "Sandburg, have you lost your few remaining marbles? Last time I looked, you weren't a cop. You're a civilian, well, a civilian genie, anyway. All of which is my way of saying in your dreams."

"Aw, come on, man," Blair whined as Jim pulled out into traffic. "I'm perfect for this and we'd be wearing wires, so if anything went down, you'd be there in a flash, especially if you're already there, maybe as a bouncer or something? And with your hearing, well, I couldn't be safer."

"Yeah, well that sounds good, but if you think Simon will allow this, you're crazy.

***

"I like it," Simon said. "You should have no difficulty recognizing her and, once you do, bringing her in."

Jim and Blair looked at each other and, as Blair chewed his lower lip, Jim rolled his eyes and said rather sheepishly, "Uhm, sir, we don't really have sufficient evidence to bring her in. The purpose of setting up this surveillance would be to catch her in the act, if you get my drift."

Simon stood up and walked around his desk. "Excuse me? You have the bartender's identification and confirmation that she was at the club last night, you have—"

"Sir, you might want to sit down for this," Jim offered helpfully.

"You do have his ID, right?" Simon asked as he perched on the edge of his desk; his concession to 'sitting down'.

"Well, yes and no. You see, he isn't the one who ID'd her as our killer - I am. I sort of...kind of... I saw her do it, sir. Sort of - kind of," Jim finished lamely.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest. "Really? And just how did you do that, Jim? You've got a sudden case of ESP going on here?"

"Yeah, yeah," Blair jumped in eagerly. "That's exactly what it is. Jim has ESP. Wow, that's good." He turned to his partner. "Man, we should have thought of that, you know?"

Jim slapped Sandburg on the back of the head and said, "Good going, Darwin."

Rubbing his hair, Blair said, "What? What?"

"Okay, you two, what the hell is going on? I know damn well you don't have ESP, Jim, but don't think it's escaped my notice that, well, lately you've been pretty weird. In a good way, mind you. Your observational skills have taken off and, when you consider how incredibly good they were before, well, now, you're exceptional. So give it to me straight, gentlemen."

"That might not be the best choice of wor—"

Blair's words were cut off by a poke in the side from Jim.

"Sir, it's like this - I'm what's called a sentinel. I have all five heightened senses, which means that right now, I can hear Officer Rafe telling Captain Taggart that he's looking forward to making detective so he can wear his three piece designer suits. Now, that might not sound like much, but they're in the break room. In addition, I know you had a western omelet for breakfast and a turkey and cheese sandwich with the commissioner. You had mustard, not mayo, on the sandwich, and you ate your pickle, and probably the commissioner's too, although that last part is based on my knowledge of your love of pickles. And," he glanced over at Sandburg, "I smelled the woman's perfume in the garage, sir. That's how I knew our perp was female."

Simon Banks felt his world slipping. He gripped the edge of his desk to keep from falling off (not the desk, the world) and hung on, waiting for everything to right itself.  
  
He was going to have a long wait.  
  
"Uhm, actually, sir, that's not all," Blair interjected with a wince, indicating that he knew full well that Simon wouldn't like what he was about to say.  
  
"I…."  
  
Simon stopped because his voice had a definite squeak. Six foot five police captains weren't supposed to squeak. He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I was pretty sure there'd be more, Sandburg. For instance, how could you have a drawing of the woman based just on her scent?"  
  
Blair gave Jim a look that clearly said, 'See, I told you he was smart', before turning back to Simon. "Yes, well, you could say that I'm responsible for that, Simon… er, sir."  
  
  
  
"And how, exactly, are you responsible?" Simon said sarcastically, not in the least doubtful that Blair Sandburg was completely responsible.  
  
Knowing full well that Simon had no doubts about his being totally responsible, Blair said, "I'm a genie and Jim wished to see the crime, to see the murderer, so I made it possible because…well, like I said, I'm a genie."  
  
"You know, that's as good as Jim being this," he turned to look at his best detective, "what did you call it again?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jim held it, expelled it, and said with the rush of air, "I'masentinelsir."  
  
"He said, 'Sentinel'. He's a sentinel. Five heightened senses and basically a walking crime lab. Forensics will never be able to touch him for evidence-gathering. And yes, you heard me right. I'm a genie, and Jim's backup. I help him focus, teach him about his abilities, and keep him from zoning. And before you ask," Blair held up a hand, "a zone is where he focuses too much on one sense and kind of … you know, goes into a—"  
  
"Would that be a zone, Sandburg?"  
  
"Er…yes, sir."  
  
Simon needed a drink - badly. He got up, walked over to the credenza behind his desk and poured himself a cup of coffee. Stirring his non-dairy creamer into it, he said, "You know, when I took over this office, I found a flask of brandy in the bottom drawer and I tossed it." He turned and caught Jim's eye. "How was I supposed to know that someday, you two would come into my life?"  
  
Blair rubbed his chin as Jim said, "Now you know how I feel since Sandburg came into mine."  
  
Looking not the least bit cowed, Blair said, "You know you love me, Jim. Come on, I'm a gem of a genie."  
  
"I just want to know what happened to the gorgeous blonde genies with the crop tops," Simon asked.  
  
"Oh, pul-eeze, could we be any more chauvinistic here?" Blair said. He rolled up his shirt, revealing in a nice expanse of skin with a touch of dark hair that disappeared below his belt. "I have a great belly button, see? Who needs some pert, cute blonde?"  
  
"Sandburg, pull your shirt down," Simon commanded, not missing Jim's surreptitious look.  
  
Blair did as ordered, but grinned. "So you believe us?"  
  
  
"Like you two would make all this up? I believe you -- I just wish I'd listened to my father when he tried to talk me in to becoming a dentist. I could be cleaning some harmless soul's teeth right now instead of dealing with a sentinel and a male genie with an inny and long hair."  
  
There was nothing either man could say to that, so Jim and Blair stayed quiet.  
  
"So," Simon said after taking a sip of his alcohol-less coffee, "we go with your bait plan then?"  
  
"I'm thinking… yes," Jim offered.  
  
"And you can keep Brown and Sandburg safe?"  
  
"Simon, Jim is awesome. Yes, he can keep us safe. His senses will know what the killer is going to do before she does. We'll have this case wrapped up by tonight and the powers that be off your back… sir," he added as an after thought.  
  
"Sandburg, it's been my experience that nothing is ever that easy, but that's neither here nor there. Jim, you have a go with your plan. Now could you two get out? I need time to… what it is you call it, Sandburg?"  
  
"Process, sir?"  
  
"Yeah, that. So go already. Catch me a killer."  
  
Sandburg started to salute, but Jim stopped him with a firm hand on his forearm before almost pushing him out the door.  
  
Walking them to his desk, Jim said out of the corner of his mouth, "You just had to show him your belly button, didn't you?"  
  
***  
  
Club Doom was thriving and Jim had a colossal headache. Music pounding without a break, smoke curling into the air, and the smell of alcohol, sweat and hundreds of different colognes and perfumes, all combined to leave Jim almost weak in the knees. He rubbed his eyes and considered a quick trip to the bathroom to rinse them out when a soft voice came to him.  
  
"Jim, you know the drill. Compartmentalize it, man, so you can concentrate on us."  
  
Jim connected with his partner from several feet away and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. He spent the next few seconds separating out his senses, tucking away the odors and sounds he didn't need, which left him with Brown and his partner. He sighed in relief.  
  
  
  
"Jim, give it a few minutes, then try to find that perfume. You'll probably smell her long before you see her in this menagerie."  
  
Jim had to hand it to Sandburg, he was one smart man wrapped up in a truly exceptional package. Less than a minute later, he had his suspect, or at least someone who smelled the part. He managed to unobtrusively point to his nose.  
  
"Okay, now that you've got the scene, you need to try the piggyback technique I taught you in order to use the scent to lead you to the woman."  
  
Jim concentrated on everything Blair had taught him, fastened his sense of sight onto smell… and he had her. He expelled a relieved breath. She was watching the crowd from the balcony above the dance floor, alone, arms resting on the railing, red hair in an elegant French twist. She wore a black sheath with spaghetti straps, a diamond chocker and a delicate diamond bracelet.  
  
It was so easy for Jim to zero in on her eyes, to note that they were smoky green before he followed her gaze to the area inhabited by Sandburg and Brown. When he glanced back up at her…she was gone, but he spotted her again almost immediately. She was walking sedately down the stairs.  
  
Jim tried to decide if he was close enough to Sandburg and Brown, just in case, but of course, she wouldn't try anything here. Her M.O. said that she'd follow her victim back to 'his' place, which, if she went with either Blair or Henri, meant one of the safe houses they'd set up.  
  
Jim found himself praying that she'd take Brown. The small tendril of fear that had been his constant companion since arriving at the club now sprouted at the thought that she might target Blair. He remembered clearly how helpless he'd been in the garage, and how fast she'd acted. Could even a sentinel stop her in time?  
  
Damn, and wouldn't you know the kid was a trouble magnet. Who else would get himself stuck in a bottle and was now about to become Miss 'I Can Slash You Seven Ways From Sundown's' next victim?  
  
Heart in his throat, Jim watched as she walked confidently up to where Sandburg stood, one leg bent back, foot and body resting against the wall. At her approach, the younger man straightened and, self-consciously, tucked some hair behind his ear. Pleasantly surprised, Jim watched how Blair handled her. It seemed his young friend was less than experienced with flirting – although he certainly knew how to flirt with Jim.  
  
Okay, not birds of the same feather, but still, flirting was flirting, right? Good God, here he was thinking about the differences between flirting with men versus women while his partner was about to become the fly to a redheaded spider. And how in the hell could flirting with a killer come close to the normal flirting habits of the all American male?  
  
***  
  
  
It had been an hour - a very long, drawn out hour - since their suspect had connected with Blair and Jim had been forced to watch as his partner danced and small talked with a killer. The bartender was one of theirs, so every drink delivered to Blair was nothing more than Seven-Up, and it should have helped to know that Blair was surrounded by cops, with even more at the safe house, but it didn't. Not even the fact that Simon was waiting at the house, helped. Jim was scared out of his mind.  
  
Huh-oh, they were getting up and Blair was reaching for his jacket.  
  
They were leaving.  
  
Jim made his way quickly through the crowd and out the back way to the Expedition. He was inside and pulling onto the street by the time Blair and the woman hit the parking lot. He listened as he drove slowly toward the safe house, knowing that another car would be trailing Sandburg.  
  
"No, it's not far. You know the Oakwood area?"  
  
"Yes, near the water tower?"  
  
"That's the place."  
  
The next sounds were those of Blair and the woman walking to their cars. Her heels clicked, tap-tap, and Jim could tell she was close to Blair as he could hear the slide of cloth as their bodies touched. Their footsteps halted….  
  
"This is quite a car, Blair. Classics are very … sexy."  
  
Wow, Jim thought, her purr rivaled the engine of the most expensive car Jim could think of. She was good, no doubt of that. Her voice dripped sensuality and promises of unbelievable earthy delights, but when Jim focused on Blair's heartbeat, he only found it calm and steady, with no trace of fear or excitement.  
  
Jim's admiration for Blair Sandburg tripled.  
  
The sudden silence told Jim that the two were exchanging kisses. His fists clenched as jealousy roared through him. He would have to do something about that when this case was over, genie or not.  
  
The kiss ended, the woman sighed, and car doors were opened.  
  
"Just follow me."  
  
She must have nodded because there was no verbal response. A minute later, both cars pulled out of the parking lot.  
  
Jim stayed a few blocks in front of them, knowing that Detectives Kennedy and Thomas would be a few cars behind Sandburg.  
  
"Jim, you better be feeling pretty good, I really like my neck, if you know what I mean. And my mother has always told me that I'm very thin-blooded, so I really can't afford to lose so much as a drop."  
  
Jim smiled as he turned into the residential district and headed for the house.  
  
"Jim? Seriously though, there's nobody I trust more with my neck… or my blood."  
  
He felt his throat close up, but managed to whisper, "There will be no Sandburg blood spilled tonight. That's a promise."  
  
***  
  
Jim pulled the car into the alley behind the safe house, shut off the engine, and climbed out. Blair should be about two blocks away. Jim opened the gate to the backyard and hurried through. He could hear the heartbeats of the other cops, all in hiding. Touching his finger to the earpiece, he whispered, "They're almost here, so on your toes, guys."  
He then moved swiftly to the side of the garage and waited.  
  
From his viewpoint, he'd be close to where they'd agreed the 'victim' would park and within reach, yet out of sight. Damn, he was scared. So much depended on his senses and reflexes - so damn much.  
  
The Corvair pulled into the driveway and, behind it, a black Ford Mustang. Blair got out of the car and walked onto the grass where, a moment later, he was joined by their suspect.  
  
"Not too close, Chief," Jim murmured to himself. "Remember what we decided…."  
  
She got within an arm's length, and Blair started back toward the driveway. Like a dog following a bone, she followed Blair. When he hit asphalt, she said, "Wait up, Blair."  
  
"There's a fireplace whispering our names. Come on."  
  
"Wait up," she entreated, her voice like honey.  
  
Jim cocked his head and doubled checked everyone's position, including Simon's. He could tell his captain was just inside the door of the house, the smell of his aftershave a dead giveaway.  
  
Their suspect came abreast of Blair and placed a hand on his arm. Jim tensed. This was it. The same moves he'd witnessed in the garage. She'd kiss him, and pull out the….  
  
The sound of a garbage can hitting the street startled Jim and he winced. On the driveway, she turned, as did Blair, in time to spot one of the officers duck back behind a tree.  
  
  
Jim groaned and pulled his gun. This was the last time he let beat officers in on one of his gigs.  
  
The snick of a door let him know that Simon had cracked it open enough to see and, at that moment, all hell broke loose.  
  
The suspect turned back to Blair and, smiling seductively, said, "You don't look like any cop I've ever seen…."  
  
Jim felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. As he started to move forward, to speak into the microphone, he saw her hand dip into her purse….  
  
"Move, move, move," Jim hissed out.  
  
***  
  
Blair whirled around, saw her hand disappear into her bag, and thought the whole thing pretty funny. A cop falls over a garbage can and he was a genie for crying out loud. A fucking genie, and he could do nothing.  
  
The front door of the house was thrown open, the porch light came on, and Simon, followed by three other detectives, poured out. The woman glanced in their direction, then back at the garbage can, where two more cops appeared, and then Jim was moving, gun out.  
  
She brought her hand came up and Jim, spotting the movement, yelled, "Get away from her, Sandburg!"  
  
Blair jumped back and, at the same time, something dark and small caught Jim's attention and he realized she'd pulled a gun….  
  
"Hit the grass, Chief!"  
  
Blair never even paused. He threw himself down even as both Jim and the woman fired. He watched her body spin around, thanks to the force of his bullet, and then she was falling and firing again…and then she hit the ground and all was quiet.  
  
Jim, gun trained on the woman, moved quickly to her side. He bent, placed two fingers on her neck, at the carotid and, satisfied that she was dead, put his gun away. He glanced over at Blair, saw him lift his head, blow some hair out of his face, and smile grimly.  
  
"You okay, Sandburg?"  
  
"I'm cool."  
  
Jim's gaze traveled past Sandburg and his blood froze. A moment later, he was up and running toward the house and Simon - who was lying on the ground, far too still, too lifeless.  
  
Once at his side, Jim crouched down beside his boss and carefully turned him over.  
  
Unseeing eyes stared back up at him.  
  
***  
  
Jim knew the lawn was alive with men and women, but he could see only Simon and the bullet hole in his chest. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and then a soft voice….  
  
"Jim, is he… is he—"  
  
Jim had pulled Simon onto him, cradling his head in his lap, one hand held fiercely over the still-bleeding wound in Simon's chest. At the strained words from Sandburg, he glanced up, expression stricken, eyes pleading, and Blair understood.  
  
"You just have to say it, Jim," he whispered. "Just say… it."  
  
Jim glanced back down at his friend and, with a hand on Simon's lax face, whispered so softly, no one could possibly have heard him, "I wish… I wish to undo this, to save Simon…."  
  
A searing heat traveled from the comforting hand on his shoulder and Jim's head shot up. It was happening again…only different this time, different as the darkness faded, lightning lit up the sky and, one by one, the people disappeared…leaving Jim alone on the damp grass, Blair behind him, and a still-dead Simon in his arms. He twisted his head around to gaze up at Sandburg, and his mouth dropped open.  
  
Blair seemed to be on fire, a cold fire. His eyes were closed, his lips pursed as if in great pain. His long curly hair was flying loose around his head, creating an aura of violent blue that seemed to spread out until it touched Jim and Simon. Jagged bolts of lightning shot out from Blair's fingertips and Jim was certain he was about to die… but instead….  
  
***  
  
Jim felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. As he started to move forward and speak into the microphone, he saw her hand dip into her purse… and he hissed, "Move, move, move."  
  
Blair whirled around, saw her hand disappear into her bag and, for a moment, thought the whole thing pretty funny. He was a genie, yet he couldn't stop a stupid cop from falling over a garbage can and tipping the entire operation. A fucking genie, and he could do nothing.  
  
The front door of the house was thrown open, the porch light came on, and Simon, followed by three other detectives, poured out.  
  
  
The woman glanced over at them, then back at the garbage can as two more cops appeared, and then Jim was moving, gun out, and her hand came up and he yelled, "Get away from her, Sandburg!" and Blair tried, but he stumbled slightly and something shiny flashed in her hand and she was too close, too close for Jim to get off a clean shot, but he was a sentinel and Blair watched him stop, raise his arm, close one eye, and fire.  
  
***  
  
His sentinel vision allowed him to track the bullet as it moved through the air toward its intended victim. He was so focused on it, he never saw her arm streak out, slash upward and across, never saw the thin stream of blood spurt out from Blair's neck, missed Blair's hand come up to stop the flow of blood, but he did see his bullet impact with her pale skin, plow through flesh…and he saw her fall, stunned, mouth open even as the light of life faded from her green eyes.  
  
The past and present collided and, in a flash of understanding, Jim realized what had happened. He shot a panicked look over at the porch only to sigh in relief as Simon, a healthy and very much alive Simon, started down the steps. Triumphant, he turned back to Blair only to have horror wash his triumph away as he met shocked, wide blue eyes and spotted the dark, thick, coppery-scented blood welling up between Blair's pale fingers.  
  
Blair went to his knees even as he brought up his left hand to join his right in trying to staunch the flow of blood. Jim felt his gun drop from suddenly nerveless fingers, heard it hit the grass, heard every blade crumble under the weight of it, heard his own heart and blood and breathing, and finally heard his footsteps pounding over the lawn in the effort to get to Blair.  
  
Once at the fallen man's side, his own hand clamped over Blair's, his own blue eyes fastened onto Blair's, he heard the pulse at Blair's neck thumping fast, almost too fast to count, yet impossibly in sync with his own. He heard his own whisper of, "You knew," and watched Blair blink his affirming answer.  
  
Someone shouted for an ambulance and it penetrated the fog that surrounded him that it was Simon -- who was alive -- because Jim had wished it so… and suddenly hope flared again, because of course, he had one wish left. All he had to do was wish but he had to do it right this time, so he did.  
  
"I wish Blair's wound to close and his blood to be replenished."  
  
He waited, but there were no lightning, no ethereal glow, no flying hair and nothing from Blair's fingertips - except blood, more and more blood taking Blair away from him.  
  
Simon dropped to his knees next to Blair, which was good, because at that moment, Blair fell backward and into Simon's arms. With pain-filled eyes, Blair looked up at Simon, tried to smile, and then turned to Jim.  
  
"All used up, Jim. Love you, man," he managed to say.  
  
Jim shook his head in denial because he knew, definitely knew, that he'd only used two, just two, but Blair's eyes closed and there was the shriek of the ambulance and red flickering lights lit up the neighborhood and then two uniformed men with red boxes were dropping to their knees and it seemed that all that Jim could see was Blair's blood and he fell into it.  
  
***  
  
Something soft was rubbing his cheek, and with it came a troubling smell….  
  
Jim blinked and was greeted by the harsh glare of a ceiling light.  
  
"Thank God, Jim. You really had me worried."  
  
Shading his eyes with his hand, Jim turned his head and found himself staring into the worried brown eyes of his friend.  
  
"Simon? What—"  
  
"We're at Cascade General, Jim. You did that zone thing Sandburg talked about. I managed to get you into the ambulance and told the paramedics that you were in shock."  
  
The mention of Sandburg was all Jim needed. He shot up from the gurney, not even Simon's large hand stopping him. "Sandburg, where—"  
  
"He's in ICU, Jim. In a coma and not expected to… live. The blood loss and… God, I'm so sorry."  
  
"I need… I need… need to see him," Jim finished weakly.  
  
"Let me get you a chair, you've been out for about three hours."  
  
Jim grabbed Simon's arm as the older man turned away, and said, "How did you… you know, bring me… out?"  
  
Simon's expression saddened as he pulled a piece of Sandburg's flannel shirt from his pocket. "They cut it… and I'm not sure what made me think this would help, but I held it up to your face. It's from the back, no… blood."  
  
"Let me have it… please?" Jim asked, his voice shaking.  
  
Simon handed it to Jim, who took it eagerly and held it to his nose. Inhaling deeply, he could smell the blood, had to work his way through it until he could find…Blair.  
  
Eyes on Jim, Simon walked to the doorway, flagged down a nurse and asked for a wheelchair. She nodded and hurried off. A few minutes later, Simon was Jim through the corridors toward ICU. When they reached the double doors, Simon pushed the intercom and said, "Captain Banks and Detective Ellison for Blair Sandburg."  
  
The doors whooshed open and Simon pushed Jim inside and down the long hall, but Jim could already see Blair, in the last glass-enclosed cubicle. As Simon pushed him closer, the last few weeks with Blair replayed in his mind. Damn, all the missed opportunities, the weeks they'd had, weeks to come together, to be with each other, to feel each other, to love each other. He could have had Blair Sandburg in his bed every night, almost from the beginning, and yet he'd let sentinel senses and the small fact that Blair was a genie – stop him.  
  
And now…now all he had was a splay of hair spread out over a white pillow, dark lashes brushing pale cheeks, and a white bandage signifying the end.  
  
Simon turned the chair into the small room and over to the bed. He set the brakes once he'd turned it so that Jim was right beside Blair and then pulled up a chair for himself.  
  
Jim lifted Blair's hand and held it in his own. "My fault," he said softly. "My fault."  
  
"Jim, it wasn't. Everything was covered, no one could have anticipated the guy falling over the trash can or that she had a gun and would try, even after seeing all of us, to kill him. She was insane. Once we identified her, we got the whole story. She was raped by three men two years ago. Her best friend set her up. They'd had a fight about some guy and it was the friend's way of getting back at her. According to the department shrink, Doctor Bennett, Blair was…would have been—"  
  
"I get it," Jim murmured. "But it was still my fault. I made the wish wrong, see? I should have been more explicit, I should have said that I just wanted you…."  
  
Realizing what he'd been about to say, Jim clamped his mouth shut.  
  
Frowning, Simon leaned forward, arms on his thighs. "Jim, what do you mean?"  
  
Stroking Blair's limp hand, Jim said, "Nothing, Simon. Just…nothing. You know, I remember hearing that if you talk to people when they're in a coma, they can hear you and it helps them, you know? Helps them find their way back. I guess we're about to find out if it's true."  
  
Simon glanced at Blair, then back to his friend. "Jim, there's very little… very little… brain activity. He's… according to the doctors… he's brain dead. His ride-along paperwork listed only one relative, his mother, Naomi Sandburg. They're trying to find her, but so far, no luck."  
  
Jim heard only the words, "brain dead". The floor dropped out from under the tenuous hold Jim had on hope.  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
Jim hated hospitals, hated the smell and sounds, but at the moment, all he could hear was the sound of the respirator that kept Blair breathing. The hand he held was cool and that frightened him. He should have been able to feel the heat of Blair's blood as it traveled through his veins and arteries. Maybe if he kept a tight hold, some of his heat could be passed on.  
  
It had been seven hours since Simon had wheeled him into ICU. Seven hours of staring at Blair's face and willing those eyes to open and Blair to smile weakly, but there hadn't been so much as a twitch.  
  
Jim had stopped any further attempts at contacting Naomi Sandburg hours ago, but trying to explain the whys to Simon had been difficult. Sure, he knew that Blair's mother traveled all over the world, but the real reason, the real heartbreaking reason, had been due to one of the stupid weird-assed rules governing being a genie. Evidently once you became a genie, you ceased to exist for anyone who wasn't present when made into a genie. It hurt unbearably to know that the woman who had borne Blair Sandburg couldn't be present in his last hours, couldn't hold his hand and kiss him goodbye, because for her, he didn't even exist.  
  
Damn it, he thought, why hadn't his last wish worked? Hell, even discounting the badly worded "Simon" wish, the one extorting Blair's wound to close should have worked. Jim could count with the best of them and wish number one had been to see the murder of Tom Coleman; wish number two - change Simon's death - and wish number three…wish number…three….  
  
"Oh, shit," Jim whispered as a piece of history came back to haunt him.  
  
He could see the moment as clearly as he could see Blair now. The bottle on the floor, Blair standing in front of him and Jim, so certain he was going insane….  
  
"Go ahead, say it. Tell me I'm crazy. No, better yet, tell me what I am - besides Detective Jim Ellison - in fact, I wish you would."  
  
And moments later, Blair was telling him that he was a sentinel.  
  
His first wish, no fuss, no muss, but said and granted. There'd been no glowing Blair, and Jim didn't understand that, but a wish was a wish, even if Blair had been about to tell Jim all about his senses anyway. So he'd wasted the wish that would have saved Blair's life.  
  
A rage built up in Jim and suddenly he had to stand or explode. He rose quickly, Blair's hand sliding out of his, and he was overwhelmed with the need to hit something, a wall, or himself, or…something. But he was impotent, his rage having nowhere to go other than into his voice. He turned back to the bed and, with all the anger at his command, hissed out a tortured whisper. "God damn it, you wake up healthy and whole right this minute, Sandburg. You hear me? You wake up, you smile at me and we'll get the hell out of this place, okay? We'll do everything we should have done from the beginning, everything we've both been thinking about for weeks and—"  
  
A buzzer sounded, cutting off Jim's words, and suddenly the room was full of people in white, and Jim was being pushed backwards until he dropped into the chair vacated by Simon earlier. As he watched the doctors and nurses move around the room, he blinked and thought, "God… no, please…."  
  
***  
  
"It's all right, Mister Sandburg, we just need to get the tube out so you can breathe on your own."  
  
Slowly Jim got to his feet. He could see over the shoulders of the staff that surrounded Blair, could see his beautiful eyes searching for him. Jim had the ridiculous urge to raise his hand… so he did. He wiggled his fingers at his partner and grinned when Blair spotted him and smiled; a beautiful smile, a smile for him alone.  
  
At that moment, Jim had the distinct feeling that he'd witnessed the last time Blair Sandburg would do exactly what Jim told him to do.  
  
***  
  
Simon walked down the hall in ICU and, seeing the amount of activity just outside Blair's room, his heart sank. For the briefest of moments he considered turning tail and running, but the thought was so fleeting as to be almost non-existent. Squaring his shoulders, Simon continued towards the cubicle. As he neared it, he couldn't help but marvel at how quickly Blair had managed to crawl under his skin, not to mention how fast he'd become a part of Major Crime. If the activity ahead of him meant what he believed it did, he'd have to call the station and give his people the news….  
  
"It's a freaking miracle, there's no other explanation…."  
  
Simon paused mid-step, then stumbled a bit as he watched two doctors exit Blair's room, both laughing and thumping each other on the back.  
  
O-kay, this looked good. With Simon's height, it was easy to see past everyone gathered in the hall, and what he saw brought a huge grin to his face.  
  
A smiling Blair Sandburg was sitting up in bed and, next to him, a smug looking Jim.  
  
Miracle indeed.  
  
***  
  
"What can I say, Simon? He just opened his eyes, grinned at me and then coughed up the tube. And have you noticed anything odd?"  
  
Simon was standing at the foot of Blair's bed, a silly grin on his face. At Jim's words, he said, "You mean other than the fact that Sandburg shouldn't be up and grinning like an idiot?"  
  
Chuckling, Jim said, "Yeah, other than that." When his friend didn't answer right away, Jim said, "Sandburg, say something."  
  
"Something," Blair said, innocent expression firmly in place.  
  
"Wow, you finally have him trained, Jim," Simon observed.  
  
"Can't deny that, but I wasn't heading in that direction," Jim bounced back. "Check out his neck," Jim added with a nod at Blair, who, after a quick look to make sure no one could see, pulled the bandage down a bit.  
  
Simon's mouth dropped open… but only until he said weakly, "It's gone."  
  
"No, my neck is still here, sir," Blair noted cheerily.  
  
"The wound…."  
  
"Oh, that," Blair said easily. "Yep, it's gone. Poof."  
  
Reaching blindly back, Simon snagged the other chair, pulled it up, and sank gratefully into it. "So, he really is a genie."  
  
"Not any more," Blair said happily.  
  
"So, what, you heal yourself and you're no longer a genie? You're mortal now?"  
  
Blair and Jim exchanged looks before Blair said, "I didn't heal myself… exactly. It was more a case of… how can I put this?"  
  
"He did what I told him to do, Simon. It appears that once the third wish has been granted, the genie becomes… he then… kind of… you know—"  
  
"I have to do what Jim tells me to do. He told me to wake up, smile, and be healthy, so I did."  
  
Simon looked from one to the other. "Oh, sure, simple as that. I should have known. So you're still a genie, but not. Figures."  
  
"Well," Blair said sheepishly. "I'm not a genie at all anymore. I'm just me. And Jim, I hate to tell you this, but your days of telling me what to do are over."  
  
"Hey, wait a minute, I only got to order you around exactly once. And you said that once the three wishes were over, you were mine. What's going on?"  
  
"Excuse me, Jim? Did you say that Sandburg would… belong to … you?"  
  
  
Jim had the grace to blush as he said, "It's a Genie Union rule, Simon, not mine, so don't kill the messenger. And Sandburg, don't think you can fool me, okay? I know what you said and I'm holding you to it."  
  
Simon held up a hand. "Wait. You want to own him? Is that what I'm hearing?"  
  
Jim's expression softened as, without hesitation, he took Blair's hand. "Only in the nicest way, Simon. And I'm more than willing to have him own me in return."  
  
"Okay, it's officially getting deep in here," Simon huffed.  
  
"That's as romantic as I'm gonna get, Chief, and when we're on the job, you will do as I say, so don't try and give me any guff about that not being true, okay?"  
  
Blair shrugged helplessly and said, "I can't help it, Jim, rules are rules and, while it's true that two rules kind of bumped heads and a couple of things happened simultaneously, the fact is… I'm me again."  
  
Blair's expression changed and, with his next words, both Jim and Simon got a real clue as to just how hard it had been for him in the last eight months.  
  
"I can call my mother now… and she'll know who I am. She'll know," he repeated softly  
  
Jim tightened his hold of Blair's hand and said tenderly, "Yeah, Chief. She will."  
  
Simon swallowed hard, regained a hold on his emotions, and said, "So just what were those two rules that… did whatever it is you said they did?"  
  
The smile returned and Blair went into lecture mode. "Well, see, Jim used all three wishes before I was… you know, which means that while I couldn't grant wishes, I was still indentured to the bottle and thus to anyone who was in possession of it. But when Jim ordered me to wake up, he did so at the exact same moment that I… you know, passed into the great beyond. But see, my soul was still present and thus, while I had to obey Jim, I was, by the very nature of being dead, free of the bottle. I guess you could say I found a loophole and jumped through head first."  
  
"Well, I'll be damned," Simon muttered, then added, "You know, I can't believe I'm sitting here with a sentinel and what appears to be an ex-genie, listening to talk about genie-type loopholes, but it seems as normal as apple pie."  
  
"Welcome to my world, Simon," Jim said dryly.  
  
"Speaking of ex-genies," Blair said, "Why am I still in this bed? Get me out of here, man. I only have a small window of opportunity before all bets are off."  
  
With a sudden worried look, Jim asked suspiciously, "What do you mean, Chief?"  
  
"Miracles, man, miracles. In another hour or so, I won't have ever been here, you know? That Blair Sandburg won't exist anymore so we need to make like leaves and blow, and speaking of blowing—"  
  
Jim jumped up with surprising alacrity. "We don't have any clothes for him so he'll have to wear my jacket. Simon, maybe you can bring your car around and meet us out front?"  
  
Simon got up, took off his jacket, held it out, and said, "Yours won't cover enough. Here, put him in this. I'll meet you downstairs. And why do I feel like the getaway guy?"  
  
"Because you are?" Blair offered sweetly.  
  
"Humph," was all Simon said as he headed out.  
  
As Simon disappeared down the hall, Jim held up a finger and said, "Hang on, let me see if I can track down the chair I used earlier."  
  
"Jim, I can walk. Come on, let's just go."  
  
"Chief, they'll stop you unless you look like what you still are, namely a patient. This way it will only look as though I'm taking you for a little spin. So shut up and put Simon's jacket on, pronto."  
  
"Just to prove that I don't have to obey, please note, I'm not shutting up."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Noted. Now hurry."  
  
While Jim hunted down the chair, Blair threw off the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slipped Simon's jacket on. He grinned as he glanced down at himself. A jacket meant for a man who topped six-five on a guy barely seeing five-six? Yeah, he was well covered. He shook his arm and the sleeve flopped around, his hand no where to be seen. He couldn't help it – he laughed.  
  
All alone in a room in ICU, Blair Sandburg, ex-dead man, ex-genie, and once again an anthropologist, laughed freely and with abandon.  
  
***  
  
"Gee, alone at last," Jim said as he and Blair walked into the loft.  
  
"Yeah, ain't solitude grand?"  
  
Tossing his keys onto the table, Jim said with a wicked grin, "You want to get out of that thing and into something more comfortable?"  
  
Letting the huge jacket slip off and onto the floor, Blair turned and said, "What, you don't think wearing a hospital gown and being nearly naked is comfortable? My ass is hanging out here, man, how comfortable do you want me to be?"  
  
Looking hopeful, Jim said, "Care to turn around and let me see?"  
  
"Oooh, that was smooth, Jim, real smooth." But he turned around and gave a little wiggle.  
  
Jim looked with unabashed delight before giving the view an appreciative wolf whistle. "Nice, Chief, very nice."  
  
"Here's hoping you believe in reciprocity, man. I'd hate to think my ass is getting cold just so you can get your rocks off."  
  
"You've got a ways to go before my 'rocks' go off, Sandburg, but if we take this upstairs, I'll be more than happy to share my ass-ets."  
  
Jim reached for his partner, but Blair stepped back and held up one finger. "Hold that thought, man. Just…I've just got to do a couple of things first. Why don't you run upstairs and get, you know, ready, and I'll be up in a flash."  
  
Puzzled, but willing to give in, Jim nodded. After closing the window shades against the noonday sun, he headed upstairs, amazed at how the thought of making love with Blair Sandburg could chase away the exhaustion born of the last twelve-plus hours.  
  
Undressing, he thought back to the moment Simon had dropped them off at the safe house, where Jim's Expedition sat waiting. The grass was green and pristine, bearing no evidence of Blair's blood. For several moments, all three men had stood rooted to the spot, the miracle refreshing itself in their minds until Blair finally broke the spell by saying, "So, we get the next few days off, right Simon?"  
  
They'd all laughed, sure, but Blair had been serious as he explained the need to put his life back together again. And since Jim wasn't ready to go out on his own, without his trusty partner to back him up, Simon had been forced to agree - not that agreeing had bothered him.  
  
Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes and socks, Jim wondered what Blair needed to do now. He knew the plan for tomorrow was to head to Rainier, to try to set things straight there, so what could he need to do now?  
  
Hell, he was sentinel…he could just, sort of, listen. Sort of.  
  
Jim tuned into his partner….  
  
"You so no longer have a life," Blair said from the kitchen.  
  
Extremely curious, Jim got up, walked to the railing and peered over.  
  
"Death to servitude," he heard Blair mutter. This was followed by the sound of breaking glass and suddenly Jim knew exactly what Blair was doing. He was destroying the bottle.  
  
  
Well, bravo to Sandburg.  
  
Jim walked back to the bed and sat down again. Content that Blair would soon be upstairs, he was surprised when he heard him pick up the phone and punch in a set of numbers. A moment later….  
  
"Naomi Sandburg, please…yes, thank you."  
  
Jim could hear Blair as he drummed his fingers nervously on the table, but a moment later….  
  
"Mom? Yeah, it's me, your only son… what? Wait, I am your only son, right?"  
  
Jim smiled as Blair chuckled, but he didn't miss the underlying sound of relief in Blair's voice.  
  
"…oh, no reason, mom, just wanted to hear your voice. It's been awhile and I thought I'd just touch bases, you know? Yeah, everything's cool. In fact, I'm working on a new dissertation and I'll be… well, now don't go all sixties on me, okay? Yeah, yeah, I know, but still… you see, I'll be working with this real great guy and he's a… he's a cop, mom… Mom, I told you not to go all sixties on me and no, he's not a pig, okay? Although… he does qualify as a nice side of beef…of course I'll be careful, for crying out loud, I've gone all over the world and to some pretty dangerous places, so I think I can handle the streets of Cascade, okay? Yeah, yeah, I know I've had some pretty shitty luck, and no, Mom, I'm not a trouble magnet, that's just a rumor you and Sylvia started when I was six… okay, you've got me there, getting kidnapped by those poachers in… okay, okay, so there was that little cave-in while I was in Xcheu and so what if I was the only one in the cave when it came down, I dug myself out, didn't I? Wait, you can't hold me responsible for getting hijacked by some crazy KKK guy, can you? I mean, Vegas is a hot bed of crazies and that could have happened to anyone, Mom. Well, no-o, it didn't happen to just anyone, it happened to me, but still… aw, Mom, did you have to bring that one up? Those natives had never seen blue eyes before, can I help it if they thought I was an evil god? And come on, must I remind you that they don't have caves, blue-eyed god-fearing natives, poachers, or… Mom, cut it out. Jim's a… yes, that's his name, Jim Ellison, Detective Jim Ellison with Major Crime… damn, I knew I shouldn't have said Major Crime. Yes, I have to wonder too what could be more major than say, murder, and yes, I would have to agree that any department specializing in major crimes would be a tad more dangerous than say, Traffic, but Jim is good, he's the best there is, trust me, and the rest of the guys are terrific too… yes, yes, I promise to be careful, Mom, you have my word. Whatever Jim says to do, I will do… within reason… I know you heard that last part. Look, say hello to Gerry… oh, it's Tom now? Okay, say hello to … Tom, and… Mom? I love you. Yeah, see you soon. Bye."  
  
Jim heard him place the phone back in its cradle, and he could picture him, hand lingering on the receiver…still hearing his mother's voice and her cautions ….  
  
  
  
Damn, he really needed to get a rabbit's foot and stuff it in Sandburg's pocket, then a St. Christopher's medal around his neck, a four-leaf clover in his wallet, and maybe have the Pope bless him and a white witch cast a 'hands off' spell on him.  
  
A minute later, footsteps told him Blair was finally on his way up. Jim stood and faced the stairs. As Blair topped them, he said, "Wish you'd told me about breaking that bottle, I'd have loved to join you, Chief."  
  
Eyes fixed on Jim's bare chest, Blair mumbled, "So-rry, man."  
  
"No problem," Jim answered with a smile. He walked over to his partner and placed an arm around his waist. "Come on, let me help you to the bed."  
  
"Jim, I'm fine. I don't need help."  
  
"Oh, I think you do. Who knows what kind of problems a trouble magnet like you could get into walking from the stairs to our bed. I want to make sure you get there in one nice piece."  
  
"Aw, man, you were listening."  
  
"Yep, and not ashamed to admit it. Now come on, let's get to bed."  
  
"Man, you're a real sweet talker."  
  
Jim stopped and pulled Blair into his arms. "You want sweet talking, Sandburg? I can do that, but you need to listen closely…."  
  
He tilted his head slightly, bent down, and moved in for a kiss. When his lips were close enough to feel the heat and invitation from his partner's, Blair murmured, "We really gonna do this?"  
  
Grinning, Jim touched his forehead to Blair's and said, "We are."  
  
"Genies are forever, man, and so are Sandburgs, unless you're my mother. She doesn't do forever, but I do."  
  
"Glad to hear it, Chief. I wouldn't want it any other way with us. Forever looks good."  
  
Blair closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around his sentinel, and said, "Yeah, it does."  
  
"So can we get this show on the road now?" Jim mumbled into Blair's hair.  
  
Laughing, Blair stepped back and away. Launching himself onto Jim's bed, he ripped the hospital gown off, tossed it into a corner, waggled his eyebrows and said, "Hello? Show? Road? Get it on?"  
  
Feeling more free than he had in years, Jim launched himself at Blair.  
  
***  
  
Epilogue  
  
  
Jim stared across the table at Blair – and grinned like a fool. Blair grinned right back at him before asking, "More eggs?"  
  
Jim shook his head, reached for the coffee pot and said, "More coffee?"  
  
Still grinning, Blair shook his head. In the background, the television droned on as Katie Couric shared unusual news items with her audience. Jim adjusted his robe and then plucked a piece of bacon from Blair's plate. Blair retaliated by taking the croissant from his. They kept right on grinning.  
  
"… and talk about strange news stories, this one tops the charts. It seems that a young anthropologist from Cascade, Washington….  
  
Jim and Blair turned to stare at the television.  
  
"…named Morgan Telarico, disappeared in the jungles of Peru. Apparently he was on an expedition led by the world renowned anthropologist, Eli Stoddard. They were visiting with several tribes in the Chopec Valley when the young man went missing. The authorities are still searching but it has come to our attention that natives of the Chopec tribe claim that a stone likeness of the man is in fact… Morgan Telarico. Evidently the shaman of the tribe, a Chopec known as Incacha, warned the man that his heart was hard and dark, that he had wronged the guide of a watchman, and should leave before the Chopec ancestors took action…."  
  
Jim and Blair watched, stunned, as Katie was replaced by a split screen. On one side; a photo of a stone statue in the middle of the rainforest, and on the other… a photo of Morgan Telarico.  
  
They were a perfect match.  
  
"Well, I'll be damned," both men said simultaneously.  


 

-30-


End file.
